


Color Palette

by Kureiji_Kurai



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Birds, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bird!Pharma, Birdformers, Canon-Typical Violence, Coercion, DJD - Freeform, Evil Plans, Extremely Smart Birds, Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Instability, Optimus is a Teacher, Other, Owl!Tarn, Owls, Ratchet is Human, Vos is a Bat, preening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kureiji_Kurai/pseuds/Kureiji_Kurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A beautiful bird crashes to the earth and is found by a death bringer. His one hope lies in mystery, kept secret by a great owl with speckled purple feathers. Unable to fly he relies on nothing but fickle kindness and whatever luck he still has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plumes of War

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw a picture on tumblr and I was instantly sunk. This huge headcannon happened over the picture and it wrote itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adobeexcavatores tumblr picture of owl Tarn and Swallow Pharma

**Color Palette**

**Plumes of War**

Tarn of Transformers  
Pharma of Transformers

Birdformers

* * *

 

The wind licked over and around the wings as they made a single downward push to bring the swallow higher. He was a flash of bright color and swaying wings against the clouds, and he enjoyed it. The white feathers around his beak and neck ruffled the most with the current because they were the finest but the yellow band down his chest or the tuft of brilliant red forming along the crown of his head was a close second. The wind simply danced over his sleek body, legs tucked in close, wings extended to the fullest to reduce wind resistance. Flying so high up, with the world far below had been something he missed. It was nice enough that he could forget about the biting chill in the late season air.

The sky turned black so suddenly Pharma could only blink in confusion, not even offered the chance to look up at the cause before pain was awash in his body. His wings fluttered in twitches as he took a sharp dive like a missile heading for earth. The long and pointed wings stretched wide on instinct alone to slow his pending collision and he veered into something of a level glide.

The blurry shapes ahead only registered in his mind seconds before it was too late. He had time to give a single flap to shift his direction before branches devoured him, pulling him in like living hands, grasping and batting against him as he frantically tried to gain leverage and control.

The swallow hardly knew how he managed to stop the painful tumble through the tree limbs but his claws clung in desperation to a branch, wings laid out over the ones to either side. All he could do was pant in great heaves as his heart thundered painfully. It took a great deal of time before he even attempted to move, but when he did, he cried out his regret. His wing was consumed in white hot fire that licked and burned all the way down and into his chest before circling back around in the same way several more times.

The fledgling like cries escaped him without notice as he quivered in misery. When he tucked the other wing in at his side and rolled enough to shift the offending on from the unnatural position he could do little but shriek as it fell limply to hang at his side. It hurt but a distant part of him was simply glad it was still attached.

Once again, he remained still for some time just to allow the pain to ebb enough for clearer thinking. Continuing to scream would do him no favors when it attracted a predator so he needed to re-master himself. If he was injured, which he was, he needed to hide and that was all he could afford to focus on. Forcing his legs to move and hold his weight when motion sent fire in his joints was difficult but he had always been stubborn.

Hopping from branch to branch, inching deeper into the spine leaves of the pine tree, he hoped to hide himself. Red, white, yellow, and blue feathers were a little hard to hide in green and brown, but if he was in the thicker parts of foliage he might be alright. Though the leaves on most trees were orange, red, and yellow, which would have hidden him, they were also almost gone and that only left branches; additionally, he had not crash landed in one of those, just a prickly one instead, so he did not have much choice. If he was lucky there might be a small, unoccupied hole somewhere in the trunk he could spend the night in, but that was as much as he could hope for.

Very, very carefully, he stretched his wing out enough that he could work with it. The feathers around his neck and chest prickled at the pain of forcing it to move but he did not relent until it was fully extended. His neck twisted and craned in order to preen it and align each feather properly to help it heal. Just the fact that he could straighten it, unpleasant though it was, was a good sign; it meant he had not broken it the way he feared. Most likely the fall twisted something between the humerus and the coracoids, from the feel of it; though his metacarpals were stinging a bit too. It was tender and shaky, but whole. Knowing that made it hurt just a little less.

After living as long as he had in the lab of the doctor turned teacher – though apparently a local Mr. Fix-it in his community judging by the nickname of “ratchet” – Pharma had learned all about his own body and the body of other birds. Since he allowed the old grump to waggle him about and play with his wings to point out muscles and bones in a living subject – he only allowed it because all those little eyes stared at him in absolute wonder and followed with hands extended with treats – learning had not been a challenge.

Having been found with an infection in the teacher’s back yard, nursing the bird back to health had become a school project. According to “Ratchet” he was even quiet rare because of his coloring, like an albino – whatever that was. When Ratchet moved away, however, the school set him free.

That would have been fine if not for the fact that school had only just started, the grouchy teacher had been keeping him at his home over the summer, and whatever brilliance the humans thought they had in letting him go after nearly all other birds had flown south, that he simply did not know. Ratchet seemed to believe he would not survive in the wild because he was different; albinos did not do well in the wild either, from what he said. It must have been true, Ratchet was always right, because this was only his third day out and he was already having a time of it.

He had been trying to fly south, ignoring the cold he decidedly hated, and worked off his instincts. Without other birds to at least hint at the way, he only hoped he was moving the right way. If asked, he would never admit it, but he had never flown south. He had been about to before he fell ill and was taken in, but the school housed him over the winter. All he knew was that winter meant cold and white things clumping up the window. The school had an enclosure for birds, Ratchet built it for him and so he had plenty of room to stretch his wings in comfort. But everything was ruined because Ratchet moved.

“Well, _well_ , what do~o we have _here_?” A low, crooning coo resounded through the leaves much too close.

The swallow instantly fluffed up his feathers and lifted his wings slightly to make himself appear larger as his head bobbed from side to side in search of the source. It was getting darker and his eyes were not quite as good for that as he would have liked. He was at a disadvantage with his sprained wing; come to think of it, he still had no idea what knocked him from the air in the first place; but he would not allow this voice to know. His feathers would stay puffed, his glare would continue, and he would hold his wing proudly as if nothing in the world was wrong.

There was something of a warble, similar to a pigeon, but not quite the same, “What is a little fledgling like you doing here alone? You have such an interesting coloration too, unusual for your breed.”

Pharma tried very hard to sound harsh, “What business is it of yours where I travel?

“Because, little one…” There was a shift in the branched behind the swallow and he swiveled to look into large forward-facing eyes; a flat, angular face that made him think of the masks children had worn the day they placed pumpkin in the room; a sharp and powerful beak. “…these, you see, are my hunting grounds.”  The pointed plume ears shifted forward when the dark colored owl shifted its head lower.

Pharma simply stopped breathing, blue eyes so wide it hurt, and his feathers puffed out even more.

Those round, disk framed eyes glowed red in the darkness of the tree, “I saw you flying about earlier and wondered,” he stretched his dark speckled body up until he was nearly on the tips of his clawed toes, probably in an attempt to see better, “what a little bird like you might be doing out here alone… so late in the year.”

“I was flying south.” Pharma worked very hard to control the wobble in his voice.

“Alone? A colorful thing like you that can so easily catch the eye, is that wise?” His sharp, mask looking head cocked to one side in such a way that it looked uncomfortable.

The ersatz concern did not convince Pharma in the slightest no matter how many coos this owl added on, “I was doing just fine.”

“Really?” The owl chirruped knowingly, “Then why are you holding your wing so awkwardly?”

Pharma straitened himself instantly, jerking his chin up, though he did not allow his glossy feathers to deflate because he still felt the need to look larger, “There is nothing wrong with my wing, but I would thank you to mind your own business.” Letting a predator know of a weakness was ill advised.

“O~oh?”  The owl persisted with irritating vibrato, “I thought you must have injured it when you fell.”

“I did not fall! I would never simply fall like a hatchling.” Pharma chirped indignantly, “I merely decided to pause in my journey.”

“Indeed?” The cool expression turned decidedly darker and Pharma could not hold in a peep of fear as those flat, clawed feet began to move the large body down the branch.

Panic instantly consumed the swallow and he dove from his perch, injury utterly forgotten; he remembered it the moment he tried to flap his wings and only one responded correctly. The lack of proper control sent him careening through the branches, swaying his body desperately to avoid hitting limbs, able to rely on his only good wing. Escape would be virtually impossible if the owl gave chase because he had no hope of outrunning it. Had his wings been whole he was sure he could have made it but he would be lucky if he did not injure himself further when impacting the ground as things were.

The branches broke and the ground rushed into view. Pharma shifted his weight to force the air to make him veer up and avoid a crash. A silent shadow covered him before a heaviness forced him down hard into the dry grass. The scream that ripped from him was telling enough when his bad wing bent a little more with the ground. The position, beak in the grass and legs folded to let him rest on the grass, would not have normally hurt had his wing been in better shape; it was folded tightly to his side, held by toes draped over his back.

The other clawed foot was nearly under his stomach but it was not on him, it was holding the owl’s weight. Though it was still heavy, the foot confining him was not pressing, simply detaining. After an eternity, the restraint slid away but Pharma remained as he was rather than exacerbating his situation by igniting the predator.

“What is your name, little one?” The owl whispered the question into his ear covert, the soft filoplumes around its curved beak fluttered around his head like spider legs.

“You should offer yours first before asking it of someone else.” Pharma snapped, desperately struggling not to seem as terrified as he really was.

“Tell me!” the deep voice commanded, low, threatening and deceptively quiet; it promised more unpleasant consequences for refusal than the smaller bird wanted to think on.

The swallow shivered and squeaked obediently, “Pharma.”

“Pha~arma…” the owl drew it out to taste, “I am Tarn. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The sharp beak nudged his occiput before trailing slowly to his shoulder until it reach his alula with a highly suggestive though quiet clack of that beak; Pharma knew why. The swallow trembled uncontrollably, his own beak falling open to gasp for air in his stress, and clamped his eyes shut to await the horrors. Owls normally decapitated their victims and they also were known to remove the wings.

“You were correct.” Tarn crooned, “You are too good on those wings to fall –  I saw you flying before. Such skill mixed with a sleek body makes you perfect for all kinds of things. I am sure that you would never know, but you could have so many wonderful uses. Those colors, unusual as they are, are equally perfect. You must be quite popular among humans, easily able to capture their attention. You could dance for them on those wings; hold their interest with your beauty for hours.”

Pharma blinked his eyes open in confusion, not at all sure where this tirade was taking them. Under other circumstances he would enjoy the praise but he had absolutely no idea what to do with this. What uses could an owl have for him besides a small meal? What sort of obsession did this bird of prey have with humans?

“With an injured wing, however,” the deep, lilting voice persisted, “you will not be wooing humans for a little while. That gives us time.”

Time? For what, exactly?

Pharma squawked in alarm when the owl pulled back and snatched him up in both sets of toes. The air shifted as enormous wings lifted them in silence. The grip was tight but not crushing the way the sparrow would have expected; owls crushed live prey as often as they beheaded them. This grip could have been called careful, balancing the control to prevent Pharma’s thrashing free, but not hard enough to further damage the existing injuries. That would soon change, of course.

The smaller, trapped bird hung his head in defeat as they climbed higher before those massive wings tucked in; they dove into the thick of the branches and Tarn was perched on the edge of a hollowed out tree trunk with Pharma surrounded by mounds of soft pillows, feathers, before he even knew how it happened. He blinked his blue eyes up dazedly at the red set watching him intently.

Backlit in the low hanging sunlight, he could swear Tarn had a distinct purple tint to his feathers. The creature was purple, black, and white, if he was seeing it with any accuracy. Pharma was not the only unusual color palette. Red eyes and dark purple feathers like a nightmare, interesting.

Tarn hopped from the door to immerse his lower half in the same blanket of feathers cushioning the smaller occupant. There was a surprising amount of room in the hollow space, enough that Pharma was not currently touching the huge figure and he would be able to back farther in before he hit a wall, and that was of some comfort. It was a far larger tree than he first would have guessed. The feathers, however, were of less comfort. They were clearly from many different birds of all colors and sizes, the thought of which making the swallow’s head swim. There was fur mixed in as well but that bothered him much less.

“What do you want?” Pharma was unaware he intended to ask until it was already out his beak.

“There will be time for explanations later.” Tarn brushed the question aside, “For now, you will simply do as I tell you. I will allow you to stay here in my home and I will keep you alive over the cold months. After you are recovered I will tell you what you must do in return, but until then, you need only concentrate on remaining alive.” The purple feathers ruffled, his shoulders shifting, “It is warm in my tree but I know that smaller birds are more susceptible to winter.”

“You intend to keep me here all winter?” Pharma mulled that over in his mind a few times with little confidence.

“Yes.” Tarn affirmed.

“You do not plan on eating me?”

“Not unless you give me cause.” Tarn fairly preened at his catty response, “I would actually like to keep you alive until you can be useful but that is up to you. Behave and you will live to see the sun rise and set. I have the capacity to be a gracious host if my guest is compliant and obedient.”

“Why do I find it difficult to trust you?” Blue eyes narrowed, waiting to have his head chopped off any moment.

“I have not done you any real harm. My offer is better than any you would find from another of my kind, is that not so? I offered you protection and a home. What more could you require?” Tarn craned his neck as high as it could go, obviously trying to see his audience’s expression with the notoriously poor vision of an owl when presented with close objects.

It was true, the owl had ample opportunity to kill him and had yet to do so, “Your offer is not unwelcome…” Pharma shifted, swaying his tail in consideration of how best to form the words, “I simply do not understand why you would offer it. Perhaps I am wary for lack of knowing what you desire later as payment.”

“I already told you, we will discuss that in time.”  Tarn insisted before he edged closer.

The swallow retreated but could do little once one wing and the massive primaries enveloped him and forced him against a thick side.  Struggling got him nothing at all and in only moments he was too tired to fight, allowing the owl to hold him under his wing like a fledgling. The lull of a steady heartbeat and cooing tones were more relaxing than they should have been. Perhaps harm was really not about to be brought down upon Pharma. If there was some sort of deal to be had in exchange for continued survival, it might be worth considering.

The deal had to do with keeping humans occupied. Perhaps Tarn intended to swoop in when the parents of tiny humans were not watching? Perhaps humans had things the owl wished to take, some obsession with watches or what have you. Then again, he was interested in how small the swallow was along with his coloration, so it was possible he was the intended thief. Difficult to say, but it was sounding less like death loomed over his head. Things could be worse.

It was warm, cradled in the safety of such a position. He could not say but Tarn well might have had hatchlings at some point to know exactly how to cradle a smaller body this way. Against his better judgment, Pharma nuzzled his face into the soft feathers, deciding to take this treatment over the alternative. If, for whatever reason, Tarn had lost a brood, this might be his way of filling in the loss. If so, that would be easy enough to play to and work to his advantage. That would beg the question of where his mate might be but that too seemed a question to dwell on later.

Some schem for revenge could be in play if humans… no, still a question for later.

Admittedly, he was tired and however long the hospitality lasted, it was not unpleasant. For a time he could pretend he was safely tucked away inside the birdhouse in his enclosure where life had been simpler. He allowed the steady rhythm of breaths to lull him into slumber while he still could. There might be few chances to sleep later and he was practical enough to see the wisdom in working to recover as quickly as possible. Sleep would relax his muscles and that would rest his injury. With a bit of careful work he might be able to slip away in a few days.

When Pharma awoke it was to darkness. Cautiously he took stock of his surroundings and determined that he was alone in the owl’s home. There was no breathing or rustling besides his own, and while the owl was quiet, he still would have to breathe. Where his benefactor had gone was a mystery but Pharma opted not to stray overly close to the door just in case he might get his head chopped off if he stuck it out to look. Better safe than sorry.

It did not take long for the sound of squealing, a mouse probably, and a subsequent silence to answer the question of what the owl was up to. Tarn was hunting and the swallow was exorbitantly glad of that because that would mean he was not on the menu. Whatever the job in the future, he really was going to be kept alive for something later. Bad news for every creature outside the pine tree, good new for the injured bird inside.

Pharma promptly fluffed his feathers, burrowed into the nesting, and determined to go back to sleep and avoid any further sounds he might hear consisting of an owl on the prowl. What he did not know was best, or rather what he could ignore.

“Pharma.” The deep voice had the swallow up and at attention instantly.

The smaller bird stared in wide eyed wonder at the opening and barely visible silhouette. It was too dark to see particularly well, especially since it was just after a new moon. It was hard to say if Pharma had actually fallen asleep or if Tarn was just so silent he had not even heard him approach, but he was there regardless.

The huge bird stepped inside and immediately nestled into the bedding, sinking low, “Come here.” He ordered.

When the smaller bird moved not one feather, too wary to even consider compliance, there was a convincing warble added. Eager he was not, but his mind reasoned that if devouring him was the intent, the bird of prey would not bother trying to convince him. He waddled forward, awkwardly wading through bedding. Pharma kept his head bowed and tucked himself into as small of a ball as he could but when filoplumes caressed the back of his head, he swore he nearly died of heart failure.

The dangerous, sharp beak ghosted over his crest, working the feathers with the lightest of touches. It took a moment for the swallow to realize the great creature was preening him, fixing the feathers that had gotten askew while he slept. Against his better judgment, he leaned into the attention in hopes of encouraging him to be so gentle at later occasions. He went so far as to step forward and rub his own beak into the soft chest and underbelly of his captor – benefactor – which was a sign of fondness and appreciation; he hoped the same was true with owls.

“I fed well tonight.” Tarn informed him, though the relevance was lost and Pharma simply nodded, not listening overmuch, “I was selective in the prey of the night; lots of nutrient rich morsels. The selection was the same as my kind use when we have a clutch waiting. Contrary to popular belief, we make calculated choices when hunting according to our environment and the seasons.”

“I’m sure you do make careful, and of course wonderful choices.” Pharma assured, nuzzling closer to demonstrate interest even though he did not care in the slightest.

Pharma relaxed a bit more when Tarn purred his contentment at the easy acceptance of what was obviously a role. When the owl tapped at his head, he obeyed without hesitation and looked up as directed. Pointed wings flared – one very poorly – and the swallow squawked in distress, struggling backward as those pointed end of death opened wide.

A sharp beak aimed for his head was a clear message. How the mood changed so drastically was a mystery, but he _was_ dealing with a predator.  He must have noticed how insincere the complements were. A fatal mistake, apparently!

When Tarn pursued his retreat, he yelled more loudly, “Wait, no, wait, please!”

He did not want to die! He had never even migrated yet! His tail was the envy of every swallow in the area last spring! If he caught up with his own kind again he could even be useful after all he learned at the school! He had never gotten the chance to show off his wonderful skills or win—

Tarn cooed at him once again as if he were a fledgling to be soothed, “Calm yourself.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Pharma cried, his wings uselessly trembling. “I-I…if I angered you somehow, surely we…”

“Pharma, my dear Pharma, you misinterpreted.” Tarn moved to touch him again using his little feelers but Pharma would have none of it – at least not quietly – so he crowded himself against the wall and called out to all the humans he used to know. In what could have been labeled exasperation, the owl nudged the smaller figure into the nesting and promptly lay over the top of him like so many eggs.

The loud calls stopped relatively quickly as air became more of a rarity and he stilled in hopes of regaining it. He had not been beheaded, he had been embarrassingly subdued; not behavior indicating intent to kill. There had clearly been an error and Pharma very much wanted to clear it, but mostly breathe. After a moment of desperate panting, the owl lifted himself off the gasping and once again compliant bird.

“Now,” Tarn began in a lofty voice, “had you been listening the first time, you would have been informed that I was not intent on doing you harm.” There was probably the most annoyed look on the owl’s face that Pharma had ever seen at having to repeat himself, “As I told you, I have no intention of eating you. Quite the opposite.”

“I apologize.” Pharma was yet to breathe normally but he huffed it out anyway. “I jumped to a conclusion without proper-“

“Yes, yes, I know. My initial approach could have been of a more subtle nature.” Tarn’s feathers were ruffled around his neck and down his back in what was obviously a sulk.

Pharma nodded, sure that even if the owl could not see the gesture clearly, he would see the motion itself.

“Now, come here so I can feed you.” Tarn finished flatly.

Pharma could only stare, dumbfounded. Feed him? As in, like a hatchling? That had been the intent when he – He surely was not serious! He looked rather serious, and also expectant and not at all interested in disobedience.

“We…do not exactly eat the same types of… your diet and mine are similar in a few areas but rather different in the fundamentals.”

“It will disagree with your palate at first but you will adjust. That is also why took care tonight.” Tarn was not swayed.

Took care how, exactly? What had he eaten? There was a mouse somewhere on the list and he failed to see how that was taking care. Owls were not even slightly similar to a swallow. What did a bird of prey know about feeding an ordinary bird?

“I am not sure…” Pharma began, but was stopped.

“Come.” Tarn was not going to be questioned further, “You must eat.”

Pharma moved closer, not from anything more than a wish to live, but he was far from stupid. This could only end badly, he knew that, but there was little he could do. There might be a harsher end in the future than being sat on if he continued to be contrary. He was not fond of harsh and so he could only conclude that he would be doing as he was told.

This was well meaning, at least, even if it was ill-advised.  Pharma could see that Tarn was intent and utterly determined to care for him. Poorly executed as the act was, it was well meaning, at least. It was true that he would need to eat and going out to forage himself would be nearly impossible, but the feeding habits were still a bit too different between them.

Pharma dreaded the repercussions that would follow from being fed by an owl. Not being made for this, he was sure his system would not handle it well at all. He could only hope fervently that no birds had been part of his future meal. That would just figure. Additionally, he learned from a random conversation a few teenage boys had over lunch, humans that eight each other went insane; he hoped the same was not true for him.

Whatever Tarn devoured, it had not been him, he needed to remember that.

Tarn leaned over him, fluffing all his feathers as he readied himself to the task. There was no backing out of this situation. The owl made a noise the swallow could only cringe at before he opened his jaws. Against all instinct and desire, Pharma tipped his head up to meet the owl half way.

 


	2. Feathers of Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the amazing response! I didn't expect anyone to read this and you all shocked me!

**Color Palette**

**Feathers of Mercy**

Tarn of Transformers  
Pharma of Transformers

Birdformers

* * *

 

Pharma awoke blearily, blinking back the cold light trailing into the hollow. He was not, even this soon after waking from the black chasm of his sleep, feeling at all well. Movement was not required to know that he was in pain and the knots in his gut were no help to his aching head. The weight at his back, pinning his rectrices, shifted and jostled him unpleasantly. Pharma was not unaccustomed to Tarn’s weight situated anywhere around him, but he was frequently standing on his tail feathers; whether that was because they were simply that long and easy to step on or if he did it as a precaution to ensure the swallow stayed put was a question never to be answered. After several days living with his large companion, he learned not to bother with too many questions.

When the owl’s beak nudged and nuzzled at his head, Pharma could not help moaning. He did not want to be moved or roused from his sleep. Protests were futile though, he already knew, because Tarn had a ritual to follow once the moon had risen and the sun winked from the sky.

“Come now, Pharma, don’t be grumpy.” Tarn whispered into his auriculars.

The swallow closed his eyes again to be rid of the tired burn nudging at the nerves. Extending his good wing with a sight of acceptance, he surrendered to the owl as always.

Tarn cooed into his feathers and set his sharp beak to work; he always began at Pharma’s long primaries, aligning each feather and working his way to the smaller tertails until the wing was in perfect order. Admittedly, it was a relaxing and pleasant ordeal, turning the swallow into a puddle of goo at the blissful attention given to the sensitive zone. It was what followed that made him cringe the second Tarn was finished.

“I’m thirsty…” Pharma backed against the owl’s front to cuddle into the thick plumage.

The rumbling hum vibrated through that huge chest into the smaller form, “Stalling already?”

Eyes still closed, he nestled deeper into the softness, “No, I really am.”

The large, strong alula of Tarn’s wing pet down the bird’s back, “I will bring you water once we are finished.”

Not what Pharma had been hoping for at all but there had been slim chance he would actually be able to persuade the owl to leave before the job was done. Task oriented was a deep facet of the great creature’s personality and that was not at all easy to derail. When Tarn stepped back in order to give himself the room to work, the swallow did not bother following. Stalling would not get him out of being tended.

Tarn bent again to the task even though Pharma could not stretch that wing as far as he could his other. A pained chirp escaped when the primaries of his sore wing were manipulated, his beak clacking closed with effort. Each shift and alignment hurt like being manhandled by a clumsy child, the tender muscles and injured joints protesting like a trail by fire.

“Tarn…” Pharma whimpered feebly.

“Almost finished.” The owl lied as if Pharma could not tell how the progress was moving, but the lie soothed in a strange way, or perhaps that was because the pointed beak was working faster.

In a mercifully short moment the primaries were finished and it had progressed to the much less painful tertails; touching the wing at all was still unpleasant considering the muscles that had been ripped and the bones sprained in the collision with the tree, but the lower porting of the wing was in less discomfort than the front. He was, however, feeling even more ill after the unpleasant work to order his feathers.

Pharma rasped his words, “Could I have water now?”

“Of course.” Tarn pet him tenderly as he waddled by to pick up the plastic bottle he had gotten from who knew where before he dove gracefully from the door and soundlessly made his way off into the night.

The swallow watched blearily before he closed his eyes and let himself sink into the mind numbing sensation of sleep. The ache of his body kept him from sinking fully, but he lingered pleasantly between worlds. He and his large companion slept through the daylight hours and he was not at all against that. It had taken a surprisingly short amount of time to adjust to a nocturnal lifestyle, but that could have been manly because all he ever wanted to do was sleep.

He was injured and also had nothing pressing he needed to do so he had become something like Ratchet’s housecat; sleeping most of the time and only waking when it was necessary. Or, rather, the cat he was while the human was home to know what was happening. The feline, Deadlock, as Pharma called him, or the stray named Drift to Ratchet, was much more trouble when no one was home to find out about his misbehavior.

Actually, that was true of Pharma as well. Had they been the same species, they would have gotten into trouble together rather than separately, but the barrier of cat versus bird and the hatred therein meant that would never be the case. The bird could slip his cage and the cat could flip the lock on the window, making neither of them angels, but enemies all the same; though they tried, they never managed to get the other caught though.

Even with that being the case, bringing in a dead bird to place in front of Pharma’s cage was a bit excessive as far as revenge for his dumping the shaker of spicy chili powder into the cat food bag. Funny how, even with that morbid threat, the swallow had never been afraid of Drift. He stayed smartly out of reach, but he had never feared that cat as he feared the owl. When one enemy could fly and the other could not it made a world of difference.

The leathery fluttering at the door made Pharma open his eyes and glare toward the intruder. The small, round, red eyes looked at him around the stubby, broad muzzle much the way Tarn stared down his sharp beak – both seeing poorly but probably better than Pharma did in the pitch black. The swallow glared simply because it made him feel better to do so. He subtly puffed his feathers out even though it probably did nothing for him. It was still better to give himself a feeling of control than shiver and shake in the presence of a creature as feared to his kin as the owl.

The great noctule bat was well known because unlike most disturbing blood sucking vermin with wings, they did not have to wait for a bird to roost, they could take from the air as well. They were fast and accurate in the air and even preferred to snatch a bird from the sky. Most bats preyed upon bugs and they were not frightening; the vampire bats were more a worry but they normally hunted sleeping livestock; noctule bats were almost strictly bird killers. It was so like Tarn to have a charming friend like that!

Pharma was never exactly shocked to find the owl liked this creature. Tarn’s love of oddity was probably the only reason the bat had not been eaten considering it was much smaller. The dorsal fur of these night-sky crawlers was either reddish-brown or straight brown; this one’s fur was blackish-blue shade of almost purple; the leathery skin of the wings and stretching over the rostrum to fade into both cheek bones– Ratchet would have corrected him and called it the zygomatic bone he thought – below the huge ears was white. This was another version of albino making a rare bread all the more so.

The swallow flinched at the pitched scream it let out in his direction. He knew for a fact that this bundle of fur and leather did not have to scream at him, not in his hearing range at least, because he felt the previous bursts of ultrasonic sound in the enclosed space rather than heard them. The cretin knew he was alone and still chose to pain him further in the ill disguised farce of using echolocation.

“He’s out.” Pharma snapped, knowing the rotten little beast could understand him even if he could not understand it.

The hideous little microchiroptera actually nodded, seeming to smile and crinkle the seeming white mask, the fangs peeking out pointedly. It seemed of a more creepy nature when the upper half of the face and enlarged ears were dark, but the danger zones were practically highlighted.

It vanished then, tossing itself into the air and flapping away like his only reason for the visit had been to annoy. Fine, let the rat with wings try to make him quiver. It decidedly did not work! Tarn would be very, very displeased if Vos touched him, so they both knew the bird was safe. Actually, considering the owl was the biggest predator in the area with wings, and happened to like the bat, that was probably the only reason it was still alive. They both depended on the great owl to live and that could be viewed as hilarious but he was not laughing. He still did not like Vos, or Tarn, for that matter.

All the same, he was awake now thanks to the awful, rotten little pest. His blue eyes closed but he did not fall back into even the half sleep from before. The wind whistled past the branches and Pharma shivered, and then cringed at the pain it brought him. It was a sad thing, but he already missed the owl for his warmth. The spot the big bird occupied had already gone cold and it was of no comfort. Cold had never been a friend to his delicate systems for he was not a fish or bear intended to hibernate. It was not fair at all how he was forced to crave the warm presence he should hate, or did hate, should by rights hate.

Yet he was sadly happy to hear familiar claws grip the bark and the awkward crackle of plastic as Tarn balanced on one foot while keeping the bottle in the other. The little bird could almost feel bad for making him do that, but not quite. Besides, Tarn said he would probably continue to gather water in the bottle so that he could keep some melted for a sure source, though where he expected to find melted water to gather when things froze was the real question but Pharma said nothing.  
The wings flapped and fluttered as he held his balance while setting the bottle down inside carefully. Once that was done he hopped inside himself and clawed the plastic bow he stole from somewhere to himself and flicked the bottle over with his primaries. Grudgingly, Pharma was always envious of his skill and the lack of spilled water that would have resulted if his own smaller self tried it. The speckled purple and black owl was far more intelligent and skilled than he would ever have expected a predator to be. He thought of things the swallow never would have, resolving problems with what the teenage boys called “berry-rigging” or something like that, maybe not that, but close. Ratchet would have called it ingenuity.

Pharma nuzzled into Tarn in a very rare moment of fondness that also had a lot to do with his being warm even though he had been outside. “Thank you for taking care of me.” And actually, he did mean it because Tarn was not Vos or even that red tail hawk that could not seem to fly quite right, the one named chaos or something of the like.

Tarn was terrible and a killer, but he was not all bad and he took rather good care of Pharma in spite of the problems. How that might change after they got to whatever task had to do with humans, there was no way to know, but it was fine for now. The owl also loved to be praised and thanked, which was proven by the way he puffed up proudly like a slightly embarrassed balloon and simply purred, so that did not hurt.

After a moment or two more Pharma moved away and to the dish. He had been thirsty after all; it was not a lie, though the cold water was both soothing to his throat and unpleasant because it made him colder. When he shivered, the owl was there, nudging him toward the back of their tree-cave and Pharma did not resist. It was not unusual for Tarn to hunker down with him, get him warm and comfortable before it was time to go hunting, but tonight would be different. Reason being? The swallow decided to do things differently, surprise his host just a little. So when the owl situated himself deep in the bedding and lifted his wing, Pharma only caught one of the primaries in his beak and tugged it back down.

The owl’s round eyes just blinked at him, his head cocking wide to one side in question. The twinkle in the swallow’s eye must have told him something because he stretched it up as the little tugs directed. The confusion shifted to a look of amusement when Pharma began to methodically preen the wing that dwarfed him so greatly. Pharma worked with a focused diligence as he preened the owl, taking care to get at the harder to reach places. Tarn was obliging and moved as needed.

Aligning feathers was only part of the plan though, because the bird intended to use a few things he learned from Ratchet. The innermost workings of the wing and shoulder were complex in their simplicity of function, but there were sensitive areas that could induce pain or cause relaxation. He knew he had found one when Tarn’s right side went nearly boneless, big eyes fluttering closed. Muscles and groups of muscles, that was the key. Being so much smaller it was a challenge, but he had hopped up onto Tarn’s back and stubbornly worked with feet, beak, and neck to achieve what he wanted.

To say his tiny bird body was getting tired would be an understatement but to say he was brimming with pleasure over a victory would also have been understated. Though by the time he had the owl rumbling like a happy cat and had his other side fully relaxed, he was ready to crawl under one wing or the other and bask in his own glory.

Tarn knew as well, rocking his body to force Pharma to slide off before engulfing the smaller body with practices fines. The swallow was not even harmed in the process again reminding him that the owl must have had a clutch once. Oddly, he could believe this creature would have been a good caretaker even though he always believed birds of prey were cruel to their offspring. They must have had the capacity for gentleness.

The swallow nuzzled in at his side and let himself ponder what might have robbed this massive being of his family. They must have been dead because there had never been a mate returning and he knew pared owls stayed together for life. One would have to be dead not to return. He sort of...pitied Tarn for that.

The leathery flapping was like an alarm sounding and Tarn's head snapped up. The unintelligible pitches the bat let off made the swallow burrow closer the the owl. The creature hoped in a hunch on the ledge, square rostrum tilted up as its nasal slits flared. It crawled just in the door, claws scratching noisily over bark before it hung upside down.

How sense could be made out of those ghostly noises was beyond Pharma but Tarn nodded. "When?" Was all his deep voice asked.

The following answer was more chirping whines and clicking.

Tarn stood and nudged Pharma fondly, "I will return soon."

The swallow said nothing as he watched the two vanish, diving from the tree like dancers. There were occasional visitors to their hollow but he never really knew what they were talking about even what he could understand. The other visitors spoke normally no matter how unnerving they were – like the white eagle with the x shaped scar around his eyes and beak and truly disturbing extra, though smaller, set of feet. He liked none of them! 

He was not involved with them fortunately and they tended to ignore him. Tarn seemed to come back from those trips in good spirit and with a full stomach so he assumed hunting played a part. Normal bats hunted differently than an owl but considering the bat he supposed it was the same. Perhaps what they went off to do was not some great secret. It did not involve him at least and he did not wish to be involved. Let them keep those secrets for he had no wish to know what monsters did at night.

It would be better if he did not think and simply focused on recovery. The sooner he was better the sooner he could escape. That was what he needed to focus on. Sleep was the best thing he could be doing. He would probably spend the winter in the tree and escape at the first sign of thaw. He would need to migrate to a far away place to avoid ever seeing Tarn again but he deemed that highly important after an escape.

Pharma hid his face in the fur and feathers block out anything he might hear. There were nights he heard screams and it was always difficult not to be disgusted when the owl returned after that. It was easier to pretend if he was not vividly reminded what the owl did for food and more so if he did not think long over what he was fed.

There were times he wanted to simply fling himself from the tree and see if he could make it but he knew he was still helpless without his benefactor. He wanted to survive, he did, so there was no choice. He feared at times that later real food might not be enough for him once he was away. It still made him sick to eat the owls food now but what would be do when he grew accustomed? Would he then have to struggle to eat what he was made to eat until he readjusted?

He shut his eyes and wished for simplicity, hating the school for turning him out to this horrible future he was yet unsure he would survive. Ratchet was cruel to leave him to this!  Drift had been taken along, he believed, so why not him? Why could he not also have gone away with them? 

Hours passed while he brooded in his resentment and pent up hated before claws dug deep into the bark. Pharma shifted to look at the great owl outlined against the moon in a menacing shadow. Tarn lumbered farther into the den without bothering to speak. The swallow must have made a nose because forward-facing red eyes gleamed when that unnatural neck twisted totally around to stare at him. He was angry, over what, Pharma did not know. Whatever they had gone out to do must have gone badly. The bird shrank in on himself, suddenly terrified as he had been the first time they met.

The dark plumage was puffed out to make the owl look that much bigger even if he did not need the help. Round blue eyes darted toward the opening and that was all the provocation the bird of prey needed. The enormous wing shot out to bar the opening making the bird hunch lower as the rest of the creature followed until the opening was obscured by dark feathers and glowing red.

"Would you try to escape now,  _Pharma?"_ Tarn rumbled low in his chest cavity.

"No!" Pharma chirped high, trying to be small as possible.

One large, clawed foot kicked out, catching the swallow painfully on the beak, sending him to the nest bed on his back. He shrieked when the base of his long, forked rectrices were stepped on by the same foot, pinning him in place. The roots of the long feathers were pulling painfully against his tender skin, making him twitch against those talons. His soft underbelly was bared unwillingly to leave him vulnerable as he panted in terror, wings flapping reflexively in desperation.

When the smooth side of that sharp upper mandible traced a line up his belly and to his chest Pharma could only whimper in little hiccuping chirps. He kicked at the leg holding him stationary, his hallux catching on the scaly skin and then on a metal band he had never noticed before. Metal bands were given from humans to prove affinity but he had no idea what it would mean for a wild owl. Not that it mattered now.

Tarn clacked his beak and tittered a warning low and vibrating. His small body trembled like a leaf, holding suddenly still as he could. In a horrific slow progress, filoplumes crawling up like legs, Tarn's beak settled under his throat. 

He could feel the heat of the owl's breath waft around his entire body, beak pressing just hard enough the make breathing difficult, " _Please, please!"_ It was not a strong enough word but it was all he had.

This time he was not misinterpreting the situation. It was obvious what the owl was indicating as far as intent. It was a show of power and superiority. The swallow was pinned by the tail on his back, prone and helpless. It felt like melting inside and shaking apart.

"I have been very kind to you." Tarn hummed in his silken baritone.

"Yes!" Pharma cheeped to loudly and eager to agree.

"But you would still run from me?" The warble at the end was anything but comforting.

"Was not trying to run, I promise! I swear! You just startled me." The swallow's heart pounded painfully hard, his quivering wings dropped limp at his sides in hopes of proving supplication.

"I have been merciful?" Tarn questioned lightly, almost playful.

"Always." Pharma affirmed, spreading his wings just a little wider and dropping his head back to proffer his neck though it went against very instinct.

Tarn took it for the offering it was and began tracing gentle circles over the swallow's chest, the feelers around his deadly beak reacting exactly like a giant set of spiders crawling all over him. "What would you do to make me believe you?"

Pharma nearly said 'anything', but that was obvious, to obvious, "What do you want?" He asked instead.

The weight pressing unpleasantly on his glossy rectrices lifted and he was permitted to roll to his short legs. The owl hovered over him but did not push him down. The swallow stayed silent and worked to catch his breath. The owl finally chuckled and nudged him into the usual bedding place. They settled down into the fur and feathers without a word spoken. 

Pharma was still shaking uncontrollably but he would make no move that might ignite that anger once again. Tonight he realized he would go hungry because the owl was offering nothing and he would not tempt fate by asking. He could simply be glad for his life tonight. This had been a good reminder that he was staying with a killer and he would never be safe here. Comfort had made him forget but he would not make that mistake again.

* * *

**One Week Later**

He found it hard to take breaths as he stared into Tarns eyes. There simply was no way he was serious! Such a plan was outrageous, outlandish, insanity and no one could hope to pull it off. Even if there were no conscientious objections it was still beyond belief! And Pharma did object, quite strongly. He had been screaming his objections very, very loudly and telling the lunatic owl what he thought of his featherbrained plan… in his head, not aloud. Tarn was looking so pleased with everything and Pharma was still just staring open beaked.

“You are quite serious?”

“Mmm, yes, quite.” Tarn purred low and deep the way he knew made Pharma shiver.

And Pharma did shiver, but not because he liked the sound this time. It normally made him feel safe because the owl was strong and wise, a sharp mind full of cunning to outwit any challengers; and there were scars, the swallow had seen them and equally knew death had been the result to those that gave them; everything he could want in a protector and nothing he wanted in an enemy.

They would be enemies if he refused to obey and the thought made him dizzy with horror. Little wonder the creature waited so long to reveal the price for Pharma’s life. Now that he knew he was unsure if he would have accepted. No, he would have accepted, he just would have done exactly what he was planning now. He would agree and then he would run for his life!

He remembered the anger of this owl well and he would not see it come against him. Though snow had fallen and the temperature turned bitter, he would run the second he saw a chance.

“Have no fear, you will not be harmed.” Tarn assured, “you will be utterly safe.”

“I know. You would be there to protect me if I needed it.” He was not the most morally good creatures alive but he did have limitations on what he would and would not do; murder, or assisting in murder, happened to be one of those things. He killed bugs and that was where he drew the line. Tarn was an owl and killing probably came very easy to him. It had been bad enough trying not to think about who died each night when Tarn left and further not thinking about it when he was fed. He consoled himself to the fact that they would have died anyway because the owl would hunt regardless of Pharma. This was not that. It was…

“I don’t feel well.” Pharma confessed on wobbling legs because he was actually swaying and he could not have hidden that. “Might we go to sleep now?”

“You’re nervous.” Tarn moved in quickly and wrapped Pharma up in one wing, “That is natural, but we have plenty of time.”

The smaller bird did not answer, simply snuggling in, closing his eyes, and letting himself be held. He would fall into sleep and forget everything. After that he would flee and return to the only safe place he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what we have is Tarn as a cross between a spotted eagle owl and great horned owl.  
> Pharma is a cross between a lesser striped swallow, maybe a wire-tail swallow, and a tree swallow, though who knows how that mix works.


End file.
